


Rebuild

by Kerkerian



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Country Roads my ass, Established Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing scenes for TGC, Romance, Some Fluff, spoilers for Kingsman: the golden circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 10:58:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12275001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian/pseuds/Kerkerian
Summary: "The news of my death have been greatly exaggerated"- I really, REALLY hope that we'll get something similar for Kingsman 3. Since I couldn't wait until then, here's my take on what happens immediately after the events at Poppyland.





	Rebuild

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sadly, the "Kingsman" franchise and its characters don't belong to me!
> 
> We now know that Merlin's first name is Hamish, but to me Hamish means either Hamish MacBeth or John Hamish Watson, I can't stomach a third one. Apart from that, Merlin really doesn't look like a Hamish to me, therefore I'll stick to my previously established headcanon and keep calling him Alan if need be.

 

He wasn't conscious for most of it. Fortunately, one might say, he slept through the immediate effects of the explosion, of which the lingering tinnitus that the aftermath brought with it would have been even worse than any initial physical pain deriving from the inevitable shrapnel wounds or having been thrown through the air like a rag doll. Apart from all that, there was enough cause for concern, of course, but as of yet, Merlin was blissfully unaware of the fact that he had lost both legs. Harry beheld him with a mixture of pain and sorrow as he was standing next to the bed in the Statesman med bay, having finally been allowed in by an equally sorrowful looking Ginger. 

It seemed entirely wrong to see Merlin so battered, Harry thought as his eyes roamed over the injured man who was white as a sheet and covered by numerous small cuts and abrasions. He looked too fragile, too close to death. Incomplete now as well, Harry thought; bereft. He found it hard to maintain his composure right there and then, because there simply didn't seem any comprehension, any appropriate words to express the dismay he felt on behalf of the unconscious Scot, the heartache. Losing his own eye had been an ordeal. Losing one's legs was unimaginable.

Ginger softly cleared her throat: “His vitals are strong, despite the massive blood loss and trauma,” she said, and something in  her voice had Harry looking sideways at her: “But?”

“There's been some subdural haemorrhage due to the impact when he hit the ground.” Ginger shook her head: “Meaning increased intracranial pressure. I'm hoping that it will heal on its own, given that his condition remains stable.”

“Otherwise what? His brain might suffer serious damage?” Harry asked, only barely keeping his voice from giving out.

Ginger nodded unhappily: “That's why I'm keeping him sedated for now.”

Harry tensed, his gaze straying back to the bed; his skin was crawling with unease and a profound helplessness he was feeling. Merlin and he had been partners for a long time. He knew he had to be grateful that the other was with still him, but right then, it felt mainly unfair. Merlin didn't deserve this, didn't deserve what lay ahead if he came through with his mind still intact: the realization of what had happened, the healing process, learning to deal with this kind of disablement.

“He'll hate it,” he muttered, unaware that he had said it out loud. 

Ginger studied him for a moment; she had an inkling which direction Harry's thoughts had taken just then, therefore she didn't ask. These two seemed even closer than Harry and Eggsy, or maybe... just as close but differently. Not like father and son, more like two people who knew each other intimately. Somehow, that seemed a lovely notion in her opinion. After all they'd been through and were still dealing with, it was nice to know that none of the Kingsmen was alone, that the few remaining agents all actually cared very much for one another.  _ Constellations _ , she thought.  _ Family _ . 

As if on cue, the door opened a fraction and Eggsy peered in, too anxious about Merlin to wait any longer.

“He never knocks,” Harry said but didn't look as if he actually minded. “Come on in, then.”

As he approached the bed, Eggsy frowned at what he saw. There seemed to be far too many machines, too much background noise. It was even worse than it had been when Harry had been in that coma after Professor Arnold exploded on him, seemingly a lifetime ago.

They stood silently for a moment, none of them able to find the right words until Eggsy finally spoke: “This ain't right. It should've been me.”

“No, Eggsy,” Harry said after a moment of shocked apprehension. “It shouldn't have been any of us. But as it happened, Merlin knew that you were vital to a positive outcome of the mission.”

Eggsy laughed unhappily, eyes still glued to Merlin's unconscious form: “Mission always comes first,” he muttered bitterly. “I know.” Harry refrained from admonishing him because he was aware that Eggsy indeed knew how these things worked, that he had accepted this fact when he had accepted the job. And yet- sometimes, one began questioning the standards one was living by, especially after something so grave. Harry understood, of course he did. “The greater good, Eggsy,” he gently reminded his young friend in a soft voice. “Merlin'd tell you the same.”

Eggsy pursed his lips: “I'll have a word with him about it nevertheless,” he said belligerently, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose: “Fine. Once he's strong enough to take you on.”

“So he will wake up?” Eggsy's gaze wandered over the tubes and lines, the machinery, finally coming to rest on Merlin's still face. 

“Fingers crossed,” Harry simply said, and his voice sounded tired all of a sudden. 

Ginger opened her mouth to remind him of their earlier conversation, but then she stopped herself. While she didn't want to raise their hopes unnecessarily, she also didn't want to dash them. Therefore she didn't say anything; it wouldn't have made a difference right then anyway.

 

The following weeks were difficult not only because life had to go on and Kingsman had to be rebuilt. Trouble was that neither Harry nor Eggsy had the first idea how to start rebuilding it without Merlin, who wasn't only their tech wizard and quartermaster but undoubtedly their leading brain when it came to organizational matters or simply knowing where everything was, had been or should be. Now that most of Kingsman was destroyed and nearly all of its agents were dead, reinstating a functioning staff didn't only seem impossible but also rather pointless for the time being. Yet there were other, more pressing tasks to be tackled, such as the reconstruction of the shop and other premises or the reappraisal of any remaining assets Kingsman still had. Harry had spent most of his time with Merlin during the first few days after their return to Statesman, had even slept in a chair next to the bed not at all caring what the Statesmen made of that , but he couldn't well leave everything to Eggsy, not while he currently was the only senior agent. Eggsy disagreed with him, of course, telling him that he was doing fine on his own, but all his diligence still didn't allow for him to be in several places at once. Therefore, when a trip to London couldn't be postponed any longer, it was with reluctance that Harry climbed on board the Statesman jet. Ginger had promised him to inform him of any changes or developments, but he felt as though he was abandoning his partner.

Eggsy, who was uncharacteristically quiet during the flight, watched Harry closely even though he pretended to be busy with his mobile phone.

“Any questions?” Harry eventually said, managing not to snap at Eggsy. 

Who, remarkably, took it in his stride that Harry obviously was annoyed with him. He only shrugged: “I was living in your house before the crazy bitch destroyed it.”

Harry inclined his head: “I know. You already told me so.”

“I left most things as they were,” Eggsy continued. “It didn't seem right to change too much.”

Involuntarily, Harry smiled, though it had a sad tinge: “Thank you.”

Eggsy acknowledged that with a brief nod, but he seemed a tad nervous as he continued: “I did go through your strongbox though,” he said. “I was fucking wasted that night, and I... I missed you so much, I guess I just wanted to get to know you a little better. You know, posthumously.”

Harry shook his head, but smiled again: “I'm impressed you managed to open it. Find anything interesting?”

“A photo.” Eggsy sounded hesitant now. “Of Merlin. Only it was an old one, he still had his hair and everything. Barely recognisable, actually.”

Harry's smile deepened as his gaze strayed from Eggsy to the middle distance:“I always loved that picture.” It pained him to know that the photo, just as everything else in that house, was gone.

Eggsy waited for Harry to say something else, but he remained silent, lost in his thoughts. Just when Eggsy thought that nothing else was forthcoming, Harry suddenly sighed, shaking his head before looking at his young friend: “We were colleagues at first, after having been recruited at roughly the same time. Merlin was the only one I felt I could talk to; he was neither posh nor arrogant, and he also seemed the only one with a sense of humour.”

Eggsy smiled; he could imagine the two of them striking up a friendship. With a pang, he very briefly thought of Roxy.

“Eventually, we became more than friends,” Harry continued, “and we have been ever since.” He fell silent, regarding Eggsy with something akin to curiosity: “I assume you're not overly surprised.”

Eggsy returned his gaze: “I was, at first,” he finally said with the honesty that was typical for him. “Both of you were really good at hiding your relationship. Which shouldn't even be necessary, if you ask me.”

“Well.” Harry shrugged. “You knew the old Arthur and how antiquated his views were. Traditional to many also means old-fashioned.”

Eggsy shook his head: “I get it, but I'm also really glad that we'll be able to make some changes from now on,” he said. “Some things really need some serious reconsidering.”

Harry smirked: “Such as shooting the dog?”

“Exactly,” Eggsy grinned for a moment, but then he shook his head: “Are you sure you should be coming to London with me right now?”

Harry looked pained for a moment: “Yes,” he then answered. “Merlin will have my head if we're letting things slide while he's... incapacitated.” It took everything he had to make it sound lightly.

Eggsy wasn't so easily deceived, but he could see that Harry was having a difficult time. “Well,” he therefore said, “he'll have something to look forward to  _ if _ we don't screw things up further.”

Harry nodded, suddenly grateful that it was Eggsy who was with him; he really had grown up remarkably during the last year, and Harry was glad that he had actually made it and become a Kingsman agent.

 

The notion that his home along with the shop in Savile Row and the large manor in Buckinghamshire which had housed their headquarters were gone was positively preposterous. Harry didn't entirely believe it until he had seen the ruins for himself, and even then it still seemed incomprehensible.

Eggsy at least was meeting his girlfriend in London, which he was looking forward to, if with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

Harry, since he didn't have any other place to go and didn't fancy staying at a hotel, went to Merlin's flat that evening. He let himself in with the emergency key Merlin had given him years ago and stopped in the small, unlit hall after closing the door behind him, taking a deep breath. Here, everything seemed unchanged, and he could feel the quiet peacefulness of the place enveloping him like a blanket. With slow steps, Harry went into one room after the other, inhaling Merlin's familiar scent and immediately feeling at home. A strong sense of longing also swept through him, and he wished Merlin was here, that they'd just have a nice dinner and then watch a film together on the worn old sofa, preferably something romantic.

With a glass of sherry and a heavy sigh, Harry eased himself down onto the very same sofa, not bothering to turn on any lights. What a mess their lives had become. He had always enjoyed the elaborate order of things which Kingsman provided: there was a protocol for everything, certain courses of action for every possible scenario, not only for staff briefings. From the way Kingsmen dressed to the solemn toast if one of them had died, one could always be certain of the according procedures. Of course, there were occasions which required improvising, but never on a scale such as this. Harry slid down in the cushions and closed his eyes, soaking up the solace which the familiar surroundings were offering; he was tired of the chaos which had been engulfing him lately.

When Harry awoke in Merlin's bed in the small hours of the following day, he was disoriented for a moment. Feeling crumpled, probably because of the scotch he had drunk after the sherry, he stumbled into the bathroom and relieved himself, then burrowed back into the blankets. Everything smelled of Merlin, and if Harry closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that his partner was there with him. Except for the missing warmth, the soft breathing sounds, the sheer presence of the other. He stared at the curtains which he hadn't closed, watched as the first light of dawn was slowly changing their colour from grey to a creamy white. What if Merlin didn't recover? What if he remained in a persistent vegetative state? What if the Merlin Harry had known and loved was gone, not even remembering his partner? Harry had talked to Ginger about it, had asked whether anything could be done with the alpha gel which after all had saved his own life so miraculously. She had shaken her head, however, telling him that it didn't work like that: while it was able to rebuild damaged cells for example, it couldn't reduce the pressure due to the swelling.

 

Things were beginning to look up about a week later. Harry and Eggsy had been successful in procuring a number of Kingsman documents which had been stored in safe deposit boxes throughout different locations in London; among them there were valuable blue prints and various indices specifying, apart from a number of other assets, a few hidden gadget caches some of which even Harry hadn't yet heard about. They also began to make notes about contingency vehicles, of which surprisingly there were a few. But then, Poppy had mainly targeted inhabited objects.

In the end, Harry and Eggsy returned to Kentucky with an extensive inventory and a better understanding of the tasks which lay ahead; while it still meant a lot of work, it seemed more manageable than before. Apart from that, they had been to see a group of architects about the new shop, feeling that that was the place to start.

They boarded the jet with a certain elation- on Eggsy's part also because Tilde and he had not only made up but also decided to get married. The closer they got to their destination, however, the quieter Harry became. He headed straight for the med bay after they had touched down; Ginger had contacted him a few days earlier, telling him that the swelling was beginning to decrease. It took all of his self-restraint not to run the last few meters.

He didn't know what he had expected- Merlin was still unconscious. Harry stopped at the bed and looked his partner over. It took a moment to register that the breathing tube was gone, and that Merlin didn't look as ashen any more. While he was still pale, something about him was different. Unthinkingly, Harry reached for his hand, overwhelmed by the need to touch him, and gently squeezed the other's fingers: “I'm back,” he all but whispered. “Now it's your turn.”

 

Merlin took his time, however. He only opened his eyes two days later. Harry had been with him a lot; Ginger had told him that it seemed as though the unconsciousness was slowly turning into sleep and that she was hopeful Merlin would wake up soon. When he finally did, it wasn't as Harry had imagined it. He only blinked slowly for a few times before closing his eyes again, not really registering who was with him.

“Well,” Ginger said, “we're not in a movie, after all, where people immediately start talking and so forth. But it's a start.” And she was right. Merlin woke up several times during the following days, and every time he did, he seemed a bit more aware of his surroundings until at last his gaze came to rest on Harry. It was rather unfocused and he didn't wear his glasses, but as Harry, who was holding his hand once more, smiled and greeted him, there definitely was a reaction, small yet unmistakable: his eyes were smiling back at Harry, for whom it felt like Christmas and his birthday taken together. 

Merlin's progress was slow, but steady. His speech was a little slurred at first, but as he gradually gained more strength, his pronunciation improved rapidly. Once he was able to stay awake for a little longer, he was rather soon able to comprehend what had happened. Harry, who was blissful beyond measure that Merlin had after all recognized him, found himself walking the fine line between wanting to provide unlimited support and not wishing to put any additional pressure on him. Therefore he stayed with him as much as possible, often holding his hand even while he was asleep. On the day Harry had come back from London, he had told Ginger that he and Merlin were an item because he simply didn't see any point in keeping it a secret any longer. Eggsy was right in his opinion: some things needed to change. And if Statesman didn't like it, they'd find another way to continue. He was more optimistic about Kingsman's future now that he knew they didn't have to depend on their American brothers entirely. He furthermore didn't have many qualms about abandoning the rule about personal feelings for the time being, not now that Merlin needed him.

Ginger seemed very understanding, however, and she had also arranged for a comfortable chair to be put next to Merlin's bed for Harry.

It was on the fifth or sixth evening after Merlin had initially come to that Harry woke from a nap in said chair and found that Merlin was watching him. He sat up straight and got to his feet, still a little woozy: “Hey.”

Merlin smiled: “Didn't want to wake you.” His voice was not up to its usual strength yet, but to Harry it sounded lovely nevertheless. He leaned over the railing, gently caressing Merlin's cheek with the back of his fingers: “I'm glad you did.”

“You look tired.”

“Maybe I'm getting old.” 

“Yeah...” 

“Of course, you're high as a kite right now, so...” Harry trailed off and they both chuckled a little. The quality of the drugs Statesman used was superb, of course, therefore Merlin was entirely pain free and still rather lucid. And Merlin couldn't _not_ think, his mind was always busy. Therefore, he had been mulling the situation over quite a bit already. 

“What now?” he asked quietly after a moment, and it took Harry only a few seconds to realize what he meant.

He took Merlin's hand, pulled it up to his mouth and pressed a kiss on it, then he wrapped his other hand around it as well, propping his elbows up on the mattress: “We'll rebuild,” he said, chin on their joined hands. “Once you're better and runnning around on those prostheses which Ginger is already working on if I'm not very much mistaken. Preferably  without  any blades.”

Merlin's expression was pained as he regarded Harry now: “I don't know if I can.”

“Yes,” Harry replied immediately, to his dismay feeling his eyes moisten. “Yes, you can. You can because you're strong, much stronger than any of us. And you'll have me.”

Merlin's eyes were watering as well now: “I don't feel strong,” he murmured. “Not now.”

Harry squeezed his hand, blinking furiously in order to keep those damn tears at bay but losing that battle: “I'm so sorry,” he breathed, voice too unreliable to speak above a whisper. “It shouldn't have happened, we should have been more careful. I'm so sorry, darling.”

“Don't be,” Merlin managed. “What's done is done.” 

Harry took a deep breath: “We'll get you through this, together.”

He could feel that Merlin squeezed his hand in return, but for a while, neither of them was able to speak.

 

Merlin went through a caleidoscope of emotions during the following weeks, as could be expected; after all, he had to come to terms with losing his legs and all that it entailed.

Despite the tremendous fatigue which he often felt, he frequently lay awake at night, worrying, wondering or quarreling with fate. He supposed he had to be glad to be alive; considering the state he was in however, it was difficult. He hated himself for the self-pity he was feeling, thinking that he should be stronger than that. Maybe Harry was wrong, though, maybe he simply didn't have it in him. It was thoroughly intimidating to realize how even seemingly trivial tasks like getting out of bed in the morning were going to have to be organized, that he'd need a wheelchair around even after he'd gotten used to his artificial legs. Or how his entire balance seemed off kilter at certain movements.

How could he be of any use if he was basically helpless most of the time? How could he be the man Harry had come to love? How could he be enough for someone who had been dubbed 'Broken Hearts Hart' in his youth because he turned heads left, right and center wherever he went? Merlin knew he was unfair to Harry, who had been nothing but faithful to him during all those years and who was currently doing everything he could to make it easier for his partner, even though he had lost an eye himself, and he had had to get through that loss alone. He had told Merlin how he only vaguely remembered those first weeks of being 'the Lepidopterist', therefore he couldn't recall how exactly he managed, even though he remembered a lot of despair as well. By now he had gotten used to it. Harry was tougher than people made him out to be, and Merlin knew that he should follow his lead. Yet he couldn't help it: he felt much less of a man, of a _person_ right now, and there didn't seem anything which could be done.

 

Ginger, who was very fond of Merlin, was working on a neuro-chemical compound to at least relieve the awful phantom limb symptoms Merlin was experiencing. On the whole, he was visibly doing his best to pull himself together, but on days on which it was really bad, for example, his left knee hurt even though it wasn't there any more, or sometimes he felt both legs itching despite the knowledge that it couldn't be. Those were days on which he wasn't able to put up with it at all, days on which he refused to get up and continue with physiotherapy, or even eat; days on which he wanted to be left alone.

His friends commiserated with him, each of them helpless in their own way. Ginger spent most of whichever time she had to spare in her lab, trying to speed things along; Eggsy tried to cheer Merlin up with jokes and anecdotes, and Harry did his best to act as a buffer. Since he had gone through similar phases due to the loss of his eye, he had an inkling how Merlin must be feeling. Apart from that, they had known each other for so long that he knew how to deal with his his partner's moods. Which, he mused, seemed unfair towards Merlin, who had always been rather calm and didn't tend to take his personal feelings out on others. He also didn't want to be a burden, not even now. It was difficult to see him suffering like this, therefore Harry mustered all his patience and didn't even flinch when Merlin, frustrated, threw a book at him one afternoon, only narrowly missing because Harry's reflexes kicked in. As composed as ever, he picked the book up and put it back on the nightstand: “We don't _have_ to go outside,” he said, “it was a mere suggestion.”

Merlin, who had turned away from him as best as he could, was pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, and Harry could see that his shoulders were trembling in a rather unambiguous way. Therefore he sat down next to him and put his hand between Merlin's shoulder blades, gently rubbing slow circles, waiting.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly once Merlin had calmed down. “I didn't mean to push you.”

“ _I'm_ sorry,” Merlin muttered. He turned back to Harry, eyes still wet: “I overreacted.”

Harry wanted to reply, but Merlin interrupted him: “No, please. Don't say something understanding, because it really isn't justified. I overreacted because I'm feeling fucking sorry for myself, and I would have loved to go outside today, since it's a lovely autumn day and I can see that there are leaves on the ground and the air probably smells phantastic. But I don't want to be pushed around in a fucking wheelchair, and if I can't crunch those fucking leaves underneath my own two feet, I don't want to see them at all!” Tears were running down his cheeks again now, and his vulnerability broke Harry's heart for the umpteenth time.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, feeling horribly inadequate.

“It's not your fault, it's mine! I'm not strong, not at all. I don't want this, and even though I know that it's unfair to you and I'm being selfish, I think I'd rather have died! I'm useless like this! I'm useless to you!”

Harry, who was having tears in his eyes now as well, leaned forward and gathered Merlin up in his arms. For a long time, they just clung to each other, weeping, desolate.

After their tears had eventually stopped, they just lay on the bed, wrapped around each other, listening to the other's heartbeat.

“You're not useless to me,” Harry eventually said a low voice. “On the contrary. I thought I was going mad as long as we didn't know if we'd lost you. Now we're both damaged goods, so what? I still want to be with you. I still desire you. And your job is still the same, once we're up and running again.”

Merlin took a ragged breath; he knew, deep down, that Harry was right. Right then and there, in Harry's arms, things didn't look as bleak as they had only minutes earlier. But that was Harry's magic, he thought, to widen one's perspective and make one look at things from another angle.

“I'm sorry about those leaves,” Harry now all but whispered, gently caressing Merlin's back, his shoulder. The Scot immediately felt guilty for doubting his love and loyalty.

“Well,” he said softly in an attempt to pull himself together. “Maybe next year, if everything works out.”

Harry smiled: “See? You wouldn't say this if you weren't strong. And you're strong because you're also brave, there's no denying it.” He sobered up a little: “In fact, only someone extraordinarily courageous could have done what you did for Eggsy. For all of us, really. And you even went down singing.”

Merlin frowned, but didn't object.

“You still desire me?” he asked after a moment of contemplation, sounding almost shy.

Harry's gaze was so affectionate that Merlin actually blushed. “Oh yes. And I can't wait to prove it to you.”

A shudder ran down Merlin's spine, and he couldn't help but feel pleased.

Harry looked him straight in the eyes: “I love you, Alan Haig,” he said fondly. “And if you can't be strong for once, I'll gladly take over for you.”

Merlin studied him for a moment: “Thank you,” he replied, a serious smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "I love you too, Harry Hart."

Harry only hoped that no one was going to come in and disturb them as they shared their first real kiss since before V-Day.

 

When they finally came up for air, which understandably took a while, Harry smiled at Merlin, then, hesitantly, made to speak: “I was going to ask you something.”

Merlin raised one eyebrow: “Yeah?”

Harry actually seemed nervous all of a sudden: “I was going to wait for the right moment-”

“ _Harry Hart_ , you-”

“Which albeit never seems to come, and I'm growing impatient-”

“Admittedly never been your strong suit-”

“So I'll just ask you now, out of the blue-”

“Oh my-”

“Darling Merlin, will you shut up already?”

“ _That's_ your big question?”

“Shut up and let me propose, will you?”

“!”

“I saw that.”

“Sorry. You were saying?”

Harry took a deep breath: “Merlin. Alan. My darling. Will you marry me?”

Merlin just looked at him for a moment, then he smiled, a true smile which illuminated his entire face: “Yes, Harry. I would love to.”

 

“Things are picking up,” Ginger said with a conspirative smile, a few weeks later. Harry nodded, his relief visible in his expression: “He's doing much better. Which is also thanks to your medication, I should say.” The neuro-chemical compound had been successful, and after the phantom limb sensations had stopped, Merlin had for the first time agreed to a fitting for a pair of preliminary prostheses. All in all, the breakdown seemed to have been rather cathartic; Merlin had been much more confident from that day on, even though there still were the occasional ups and downs, and not everything went smoothly. 

In the end it was Eggsy who had the good idea to not wait until Merlin had recovered sufficiently, but who took the tablet to him which contained the 'London Listings' as they had come to call the files they had compiled.

“See what you can make of it, Bruv,” he said. 

Merlin didn't touch the tablet for several days, but in the end, he couldn't go against his assiduous nature. As soon as he had gained an idea of the contents, he began to reorganize the folders according to their status, requirements and priorities. Not long after that, he got in touch with the architects in London Harry had hired.

Ginger now shrugged: “It's time you guys got a break, if you ask me, considering all the shit which has been thrown at you.”

Harry inclined his head in agreement. He was grateful for everything Ginger had done and was doing for Merlin. Who had just been relocated to another, rather nice room in order to make him feel less like a patient. Both he and Harry particularly welcomed the increased privacy this brought.

 

As Harry entered said room now, Merlin had just gotten back into bed after his daily physiotherapy. Harry sat down on the mattress after Merlin had waved him in; he looked knackered.

“Do you have room for a fiancé?” Harry asked.

“Always.”

With carefully measured movements, Harry stretched out next to Merlin and turned onto his side so that he could look at him: “Exhausting session?”

Merlin nodded. “My muscles didn't ache this much since 1987.”

Harry grinned: “Really? I seem to remember an incident which involved rowing.”

Merlin hummed in mock despair: “The great weekend holiday disaster of 1999, how could I forget.”

“Maybe _you_ 're getting old.”

“That must be it, considering that you keep finding reasons to remind me of it every now and again.” 

Harry beamed at Merlin, who smiled back. Wordlessly, they snuggled against one another; Harry closed his eyes and inhaled his partner's scent, happy that this time, he didn't have to imagine Merlin being there. “I missed you,” he murmured.

Merlin turned his head so that he could press a kiss on Harry's hair: “Ditto,” he whispered. “I can't wait to get home.”

Harry's heart sang at that, not only because it conveyed the progress Merlin had made but also because they were getting married in London. They had decided to wait until after Eggsy's wedding in order not to 'steal his thunder', as Merlin had put it. They had however told their young friend about their engagement, and Eggsy had been over the moon: “I'm so happy for you guys! I see bright days ahead for Kingsman, bright days!”

When Merlin looked at Harry questioningly at that, Harry only shrugged: “Don't even get him started on the dog test.”

 

The End

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Since I'm no native English speaker, I apologize for any mistakes!
> 
> #stopyulinforever


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